


sunday evening

by glimpseofmymind



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Light Angst, One Shot, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-15 19:58:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18676417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glimpseofmymind/pseuds/glimpseofmymind
Summary: i decided to republish this fic after it was deleted for some unknown reason. i would appreciate it if you guys left your kudos if you had left any on the original :)reminder that in these one shots, stuart is a trans boy. and murdoc might be considered slightly OOC since he is a liiiittle nicer than in canon.thank you x





	sunday evening

**Author's Note:**

> i decided to republish this fic after it was deleted for some unknown reason. i would appreciate it if you guys left your kudos if you had left any on the original :)
> 
> reminder that in these one shots, stuart is a trans boy. and murdoc might be considered slightly OOC since he is a liiiittle nicer than in canon. 
> 
> thank you x

Crumpled photographs. Old notebooks. Frames with thin slits through the glass. Yearbook empty of any human trace.

Stuart’s foot, covered in an ankle-length dirty pink sock, oscillated occasionally. He had opted for the floor even with the pretty considerable amount of seating options in his bedroom. It was late in the afternoon; a few minutes ago he had stood up to turn on a lamp as the sky was darkening outside.

He had never intended to scratch a whole day out just for this. But once his eye caught the corner of a carton box, sitting on the shelf of his wardrobe, papers were read, tears were shed, he lost himself. And track of time.

The picture, currently held between an index and a thumb, was of a group of students, huddled together in front of a brick and stone wall, between two painted cement columns. Stuart tried finding himself in every picture, and with this one, it wasn’t hard. The bright color of his hair was an extreme contrast to the grays, browns and beiges of the scenery. A bitter smile formed in the corners of his mouth to the sight of his untied shoes, the red tinted purples on his scrawny legs. He had never really belonged anywhere.

That was the feeling all of these souvenirs gave him. Alienation. All of these years painting life with bloody noses, hot salted tears, cigarette smoke. His eyes travelling from a face to another invited in his brain memories too precise, too vivid. As he wiped his wetted nostrils with the sleeve of his oversized shirt, Stuart set the photograph down with the others, back to where it belonged. In the carton box.

His gaze low, he didn’t notice Murdoc walking by, carrying a basket of dirty clothes. It was an action far from a casualty for the man; he must have been feeling a little more generous on that day.

Setting the basket aside on the floor in the hallway, Murdoc stepped into the room, eyeing the boy observingly.

He crouched next to him, taking one of the pictures in his hands. “Eighth grade ?”

He took a guess. And it was only at this moment that Stuart was shaken out of his haze, turning his head towards the new source of sound.

Offended, he furrowed his brows, snapping the picture from the older man, shoving it in the box again. “Ninth.”

Murdoc could already conclude the boy was in a bad mood. The pout he was sporting was especially adorable though, almost laughable. 

Exhaling deeply, he decided upon fully sitting down next to Stuart. “C’mon, show me more of those.”

“I don’t want to.” At the age of only nineteen, that immature behavior should be expected from Stuart.

However, Murdoc sometimes found himself pleasantly surprised at how mature the boy was, in comparison to him, edging his thirties. That day was an exception.

The older man pressed a hand on the other’s shoulder, rubbing slightly. “What’s the matter, Dee ?”

He could feel the boy instinctively leaning into the touch, still in a subtle manner. It was clear he wasn’t going to get a response.

So Murdoc settled on investigating, getting a hold on the yearbook. “Hm, let’s see what we got there…”

“Hey !” Immediately Stuart panicked, turning around to try and get his hands on the detested book.

Before his fingers even scraped the surface, Murdoc was standing up, reading out loud, that stupid shit eating grin plastered on his face. “Stuart Pot: most likely to get fired from McDonald’s.”

“Sod. Off, Murdoc it’s personal !” When he stood up, the older man held the book up towards the ceiling, out of the boy’s reach.

And there was that pout again. Murdoc couldn’t help the laugh that tickled out of his throat when Stuart walked away in defeat. “Are you gonna tell me what’s got you so pissy ?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Stuart turned around, arms crossed.

“It matters to me you dipshit.” The man’s dry voice tone was a contradiction to his words.

Biting his lip, he looked away from the other, shame already tinting his cheeks red. Never would he think about sharing personal details of his life with Murdoc, the same person who avoided heartfelt conversations and affective gestures. The same person who prefered hate and hurting over any type of love.

Trying his best to focus, he took a deep breath. “I’m not proud of… whatever this is.”

He saw Murdoc frown. “What do you mean ?”

“You know exactly what I mean.” 

Controlling the impulse, Murdoc stopped to think. He couldn’t count the number of times he went to Stuart’s room, in the middle of the night, drunk off his arse, loud memories in his mind. They had only lived together for less than a year, however they knew each other more than anyone in the whole wide world. He knew the boy trusted him. Sometimes.

So he shot his shot. “What happened ?”

It was only then that Stuart looked at him in the eyes. And it was only then that Murdoc could see how deep the scars were. He could only stand there. Until an idea came to mind.

“I’ve got an idea.” He walked past the boy, grabbing the box in the process. The laundry basket would remain in the hallway for the next twenty four hours.

Stuart followed him all the way to the back door, where he stood in the comfort of the house as he watched Murdoc set the box in the grass. He looked like he was searching for something, until he looked up to the other.

Groaning to himself, he went up to Stuart, taking his jacket off to wrap it around his frail shoulders. “Now come, I want you to see it.”

The two stepped outside, Stuart standing there, Murdoc finding what he was looking for and setting it on the ground hazardly. A dusty aluminium bucket. The boy’s eyes followed the older man’s movements as he emptied the box’s content into the bucket.

It was only when Murdoc took his lighter out of his jean pocket that the boy caught up to the situation. “Murdoc I-”

Stuart gasped as the flames in the bucket lit up the dark yard, crackling slightly. Soon Murdoc was by his side, guiding him to a wooden chair nearby. They sat on it together, casually, the boy’s arm brushing against the other’s chest.

“It’s all gone now.”

As Murdoc spoke, the boy’s eyes were glued to the bucket, unrealistically waiting for it to explode. He felt a hand on the side of his waist, caressing slightly. His eyes never left the small fire.

“How do you feel now ? Do you feel any better ?” Murdoc had turned his head towards Stuart, waiting for a response. When he didn’t get any, he gently pushed the boy’s body aside to stand up.

“Alright, I’ll make you a sandwich then.”


End file.
